


Prisoner of War

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Annoying Nicholai meets Angry Krauser, Blood and Injury, Canon Rewrite, Captivity, Face Punching, Face Slapping, Handcuffs, Interrogation, M/M, Military Homophobia, Rape, Torture, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24796798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: As Umbrella crumbles in 2002, Nicholai Zinoviev is contracted to a mission in the Amazon.Fleeing the riots in the village, he comes into the sights of a wandering Jack Krauser.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Jack Krauser
Comments: 29
Kudos: 32





	Prisoner of War

_Fuck._

Nicholai's leg was bouncing anxiously, rattling at the chain looped around his ankles, tying them tightly to each other, with an extra loop securing them around the legs of the chair. For what felt like the hundredth time, he tested the strength of the thick ziptie tightly holding his wrists behind the back of the chair, tugging at it incessantly until his forearms felt like cramping. 

He groaned loudly in annoyance, cocking his head back. As his eyes trailed the low ceiling of the small, cramped hut, he watched a brightly-coloured spider scamper across the ceiling into the corner. In its meticulously-crafted web, a fly was buzzing impotently in its final moments. 

He rolled his eyes, internally chastising himself for relating to a fly.

"Excuse me, Mr. American man! Could you loosen this? My hands hurt!" He called out, an annoyed, slow drawl in his voice.

The response was rapid, booming from the only other room in the tiny, concrete house -- it echoed off the walls before disappearing through the windowless panes, drifting into the Amazonian monsoon erupting outside.

"I don't care!"

Nicholai feigned a pout, dropping his chin against his chest in faux-defeat. A sigh bordering on scoff huffed out, leg still bouncing incessantly.

"You are violating my... uh..." _What are those things called?_ "...my human rights! The uhh... United Nations will hear about this!"

A snort. "I do not care."

His lips occasionally moved in silent conversation, an amalgam of Russian and English self-criticisms lost as a mere whisper against the roaring rain pouring through the forest surrounding the hut. 

The mission had _almost_ been complete -- until a riot had erupted in the village he was working out of, processing research data and B.O.W samples in a small medical office under the auspices of a community doctor and nurse he'd bribed _handsomely_ for the privilege to use their internet and small, on-site laboratory. Fleeing through the sea of furious protestors, he'd managed to make it to the forest edge, but his path had put him in the sights of another operative.

Nicholai cast a crooked gaze around the corner of the next room. If he craned his neck, he could just barely see the man, seated on a threadbare, uncovered mattress that had been abandoned along with the rest of the hut.

He'd had an immediate disadvantage, the soldier waiting to strike as he was attempting to carefully comb his way down a steep hill. His position alone had led him to easily be swept to a fall with a kick to the back. As he tumbled in shock, the soldier had jumped atop him, the scuffle that ensued being one of the shortest he'd ever been involved in -- so surprised by the sudden kick that he didn't even have a moment to register an enemy was present. 

A gun to the back of his head and a knee between his shoulder blades later, and he was ziptied and being led by the scruff of his neck like a dog. 

As a monsoon began to brew in the horizon, he and his captor had found shelter in an old _casa_ hidden in the banana trees. 

Nicholai assessed what he could see of the other man, who was leaning against the wall of the room he had taken up as his own. 

Blonde, hair slicked back meticulously, he had a stern, strong face contoured with sharp angles and a persistently clenched jaw. His was wearing an unmarked, red shirt with fatigue bottoms, the pattern of which Nicholai immediately identified as belonging to the U.S Military. The man's eyes were closed, and he was idly playing with a large tactical knife -- fingers scraping across the serrated edge gently.

It reminded him of _Sergei,_ Nicholai realised with a slight shudder. 

Sergei, who had been _utterly furious_ with him for forcing Umbrella to bid against a second party for the Raccoon City data. 

Nicholai winced at the memory. The argument. The disappointment and outrage that had penetrated every rolling syllable of the Colonel's deep voice. 

While they'd both tacitly understood Nicholai was no more than a mercenary -- a gun for hire -- the bond they had wasn't an invisible one, and Sergei had always anticipated the younger man would have followed him steadfastly in his pursuits to ensure Umbrella survived the imminent fracture. 

He hadn't spoken to him since, his new contract coming from a mid-level administrator in an impersonal, yellow envelope.

Silence wasn't really silence in the hut. The monsoon bellowed so heavily outside the thin walls of the hut that every moment was filled with the refreshing sounds of the rainforest. It was almost soothing.

Almost.

"Who are you with? The _Russians_?" The man suddenly scoffed a question, eyes fluttering open and nose cocking in near-disgust as the words leaked out of his sneering lips.

"All 140 million of them?" Nicholai pursed his lips comically, "I don't _think_ so, but who knows?"

The mattress groaned in protest as the soldier dismounted from it slowly, grunting as he rose to his feet. He sauntered into the main room, pausing at the threshold to lean against the frame for a moment as he assessed the captive in the chair. 

"You're a mouthy little bitch, aren't you?"

Just then, a loud screech blasted through the room -- reverberation and the high-pitched wail of electronics piercing both of the men's ears. 

**_"J...k! Jack! D... you r....d!"_ **

The soldier snapped, grabbing at the communication device buckled to his utility vest and frantically finicking with it. 

"So your name is _Jack_?" Nicholai prodded smugly, unsurprised by the vicious glare that was shot his way.

"Kennedy! Kennedy! I'm here!" He called into it, ignoring the captive's taunt. He moved his finger at the dial on the side of the device in an attempt to control the static blaring through the small speaker, "Where are you?!"

A moment passed with nothing but grainy, choppy white noise before it fell silent again. Jack scrubbed a hand over his face in irritation. The storm was interfering with any possibility of decent reception.

"Aw..." Nicholai cocked his eyebrows upwards, tongue clicking against his teeth in mock-sympathy, "Jack is separated from his comrades..? How sad."

"Shut the fuck up." He muttered softly.

"You know!" Nicholai began speaking immediately in derisive defiance, "I am quite good with tracking. I am sure I could help you find your comrades... _if you let me go_."

Jack scoffed loudly, finally looking up from the spot on the filthy concrete floor he'd zoned-out over in idle exasperation, "I don't negotiate with Russian terrorists."

"What about.. ones from Germany?" Nicholai cleared his throat, testing his German in cocky amusement, "Uhh... _Lass..._ uhh _... mich gehen_... home?"

"The only home you're going to is Guantanamo Bay, pal."

"Oh, Cuba is _so_ beautiful this time of y--"

The backhand came suddenly, a blow landing across his left cheek with a force that left his ears ringing. Nicholai gasped, sputtering as he waited for his head to stop hiccuping consciousness from the undoubted knock his brain had against his skull.

"I suppose we should get a move on with this whole... prisoner of war thing, eh?" Jack smirked, enjoying the gobsmacked silence that had overcome his snarky captive. "You know, I got the best interrogation record at _USSOCOMM_."

"My lucky day." Nicholai's sneer was interrupted by another backhand, this time to the other cheek. Breath caught in his throat, a gag wracking his stomach as the dizziness from the strike instantly nauseated him. 

"What's your name, chatterbox?" 

"Chatterbox, obvio--"

Nicholai could feel the swelling impact of the third backhand, the soldier's knuckles making solid contact with the bone of his jaw. His teeth clacked together painfully, and he would have been thrown from the chair if not for his wrists being tied to the back. 

"Name." The demand was curt, invigorated, and without a shred of compromise.

"N... Nicholai." He reluctantly spat after a moment of gaining his composure, his jaw clicking as his mouth formed syllables. A familiar warm tightness began pulling at his cheeks as the inflammation response began. 

"Good, good." Jack grinned devilishly, "Nice to meet you, _Nicholai_."

"Pleasure's all mine." Nicholai murmured, sucking a breath through his nose.

The soldier's hands reached to his utility vest, prodding at the material, "Should have checked you out when I first trapped ya. Sorry for the poor etiquette." 

Nicholai winced away from the probing touches, but Jack continued to nonchalantly slip his hands into the pockets, pulling out items and assessing them intently before either discarding them on the floor, or tossing them to the small, wooden table behind him. A magazine of rounds, matches, and his pack of cigarettes were allowed to drop to the ground. His wallet joined the pile after a thorough interrogation of the contents -- a number of fake IDs and small stash of local currency. He groaned when the USB drive containing the backup of his reports was immediately relegated to one of Jack's own pockets with a smirk. 

"Anything else, chatterbox? Let's see..."

Jack unbuckled the utility vest to access the zipper of Nicholai's light jacket, not missing the small hitch in the silver haired man's breath as he impotently watched him stuffing fingers into the pockets of the outerwear. 

_No. No. No._

"Your heartrate's going up, chatterbox, I can hear I--" He stopped short, fingers gaining purchase on something thin and delicate on the hidden inner breast pocket, "What's this now?"

Jack slipped it out, immediately identifying it as an old, folded photo. Carefully, as though it contained a rash of snakes, he peeled it open with two fingers from each hand. A smile forming on his face as he spun the photo around in his hand to tauntingly assess the faded, but still visible, heart penned into the back.

Nicholai cast his gaze away, nostrils flaring in silent humiliation. 

"Well, well, well... Who is this?" Jack jeered softly, dangling the photo in front of Nicholai's face.

The photo was nearly 5 years old, and while it was aged, creased, and broken, the memory was as fresh in Nicholai's mind as ever. 

Sochi, 1997. Almost one year exactly before Raccoon City. He'd convinced Sergei to take a break, drawing him away from the Caucasus facility to a turn-of-the-century beachside boutique hotel on the Black Sea. It had only lasted two days before the Colonel was forced to return, a pressing matter needing his attention, but it had been one of the happiest weekends of Nicholai's life. He had taken the photo of them both at Mount Akhun, him perched over Sergei's shoulder, head against his jaw, so they could both fit in the frame. Sergei was smiling. A rare, genuinely happy smile. 

The photo had been part of him ever since -- going wherever he did, slipped in his pocket, kit, wallet, or utility pouch ceremoniously like it was a good luck charm. 

"Who's the dude, Nicky?" Jack taunted again after a moment of silent flinching from the other man, "You got a little _boyfriend_?"

Jack took the photo between his fingers, positioning a thumb and forefinger at each top corner. Nicholai gasped in horror when the first tear was made, a tiny slice penetrating half an inch down into the film.

" _N--nyet_!" He yelped, shaking his head incessantly. His emotionality gained over the part of his mind telling him to keep quiet, to stay rational -- that it was just a photo, and he was showing a vulnerability to his captor. 

"Aww..." Jack mewed sarcastically, "This mean a lot to ya, then?" He sniggered childishly, " _He_ mean a lot to ya?"

Nicholai fell silent again, a disgusted grimace and flush of red forming across his swollen cheeks.

"Uncle Sam doesn't tolerate _faggots_ in his army." Jack sneered, tearing the photo in half in one, firm swipe and relishing in the quiver in the other man's jaw as he watched the pieces fall to the ground like broken snowflakes, "You Ruskie boys have gone soft."

" _ **Fuck**_ you!" Nicholai spat suddenly, fury welling up in a cracked growl, " _Yesh' der'mo! Amerikanskaya svin'ya_!!"

Russian curses were interrupted by Jack grabbing the man's cheeks from under his chin, squeezing them tightly in a strong, gloved hand. Spittle bubbled from the corners of his lips, bruising cheeks reeling under the tight, nail-sinking grasp.

"Now, now... I don't think you're saying anything nice to me, Nicky." Jack chuckled, "My mama taught me to keep my mouth shut if I had nothing nice to say."

The moment he dropped his grip, he planted another backhand against the man's face -- this time, blood dribbled jaggedly from Nicholai's nose, curling over his lips and slipping into his mouth to stain his teeth.

"Apologise for being rude."

Nicholai sputtered and gasped, ragged breaths wracking his chest. He'd barely heard the question, the ringing in his ears echoing through every square inch of space in his skull, before he was hit again.

"Apologise. For. Being. Rude."

"-m.. s-sorry."

" ** _Sir_**."

The silver-haired Russian snarled, " ** _Fuck_** off!"

He'd anticipated the close-fisted punch that bellowed across his already-abused jaw, but it still knocked the breath out of his lungs. The moment Jack's knuckles made contact with his face, he tumbled to the ground, the chair clamouring around him as his arms had been wrapped around its back. Jack kicked the chair out from behind him, it scraping across the filthy cement floor with an irritating _scratch_.

A heavy boot found its way to Nicholai's belly, turning him onto his back and pushing down aggressively. 

"Keep it up, chatterbox, this is gonna' end badly for you."

_It already has._

Jack watched blood drench out from Nicholai's nose and freshly split-lip, intently focusing on the way it mingled with the saliva bubbling from his fattening lips. Tears were dripping jaggedly from the corners of his eyes, body wracked with hiccups for air and desperate sobs of fury and humiliation. 

This was the part he loved. 

The struggle. The fight. The victory. Breaking another man down until there was nothing left. Dominating him. It was an exercise in superiority, in power, in slovenly, perverse egoism. Jack exhaled deeply, nostrils flaring in delight as a devilish grin pulled over his face. 

Nicholai's eyes had caught and were fixated upon the growing bulge in Jack's pants, staring up at it in a mix of pain and horror. 

"Y.. you **_sick fuck._** " He tried to grimace in disgust, but the swollen, bruised flesh of his face didn't allow for any more than a wince, "You put that anywhere near me and _I'll bite it off._ "

Jack chuckled, "I wouldn't fuck your mouth unless it'd been cleaned out with a bar of soap or two, Nicky." The soldier leaned down, grabbing the collar of Nicholai's shirt firmly, and began to drag him slowly through the threshold into the other room. The chains wrapped around Nicholai's ankles scraped abusively loudly on the floor, drowning out the omnipotent monsoon still waging a war on the forest outside.

The mattress groaned loudly as Nicholai was tossed on top of it. The ancient, jutting springs prodded through the threadbare, cushionless cover and created a weave of uncomfortable honeycombs against his bound hands, back, and hips. 

"While I'm sure a faggot like you will enjoy this..." Jack began, pushing Nicholai onto his side as he knelt on the mattress, "I always find it's easier to get a man to open up when a _big crowbar_ is involved."

"Big? You flatter yourself." Nicholai grunted, squirming incessantly as Jack began to undo his belt, roughly slipping his pants over his hipbones and wiggling them down his thighs awkwardly. 

The soldier barked a laugh, "Yeah? We'll see about that."

Nicholai didn't watch the other man free himself from his cameo pants, burying his head into the mattress and ignoring the sharp pangs of pain emitting from his nose and lip as he did. Blood was smearing across the filthy material, streaks of pink painting it as though with a wide brush.

"You don't t-think I've been through wor-- _gah_!" His muffled attempt at composure was harshly interrupted by an abusive, unprepared thrust. 

Yelps began to strain past his lips as the raw, dry friction overwhelmed his senses. He could feel Jack's hand on his thigh, grabbing at the taut, muscular flesh harshly. 

"Been through _what_ , princess?" Jack sniggered, sinking in until his length had disappeared inside Nicholai's warm, excruciatingly tight entrance and his hips were bucking against the other man's thighs, "Tell me what you've been through."

Ragged gasps pummelled their way through Nicholai's chest, his throat constricting painfully as a bile-flavoured lump formed at the back of his mouth.

Jack pulled his hips back until just his tip remained inserted, pausing for a moment before thrusting his length in deeply again with an aggressive slam. 

" ** _Been through what, princess_**?" He goaded loudly, sneering down at the expression of gape-mouthed shock the violent thrust had left on Nicholai's bloodied face. 

Internally, the Russian was trying to soothe himself. He reminisced over every other interrogation he'd suffered through, from his earliest days serving in _Spetsnaz_. He'd endured broken bones, fractured noses, even a pulled molar he had to get replaced with a plug.

This was just another form of torture, his mind insisted, body reeling as Jack began to find a rough, injecting rhythm. 

"N-not... so bad..." Nicholai muttered breathily, tendons in his neck straining as he attempted to assert an invisible, cocky nonchalance. "B-been... t-t-through worse."

"Awww..." Jack jeered, "Getting off on it, eh?" He sunk his fingers in deeper into Nicholai's thigh, the flesh already blossoming a bruise beneath each digit, "You know that makes you a slut, right?"

A mingling mix of blood and precum began to offer some lubrication, Jack slipping in and out of the abused hole with greater ease. Nicholai whimpered as he felt the man prodding deeply into his guts, a sickening feeling welling up in his stomach as he felt Jack's warmth began to leak into him.

"Tell me, Nicky..." Jack grunted loudly, a flush coming over his face as he continued his steady, abusive thrusts, "Am I better than your _boyfriend_?"

Nicholai scoffed through involuntary pants of exhaustion, "No-ot eve-n c-close."

The thrusts stopped for a blissful moment, but the mere milliseconds of empty space were quickly replaced with a white flash of stars as Jack made a closed-fisted blow to the back of his skull. Nicholai's eyes flickered black for a moment, unconsciousness only narrowly, _unfortunately_ , averted as his brain scrambled to process the damage.

"Nnnh..." Monosyllabic mutters and pathetic whimpers clung on to words that had no meaning, blathering throatily through Nicholai's unmoving lips. 

"Tell me I'm better."

When an answer did not come, Jack stopped his rhythmic thrusting again, the threat of another mind-numbing blow imminent.

For a moment, Nicholai wondered if he'd rather take the cracking fist -- perhaps it would push him over the edge and he'd finally slip into blissful nothingness. But the risk he wouldn't was too much for him to barter.

"Y... bett...er." It was a lazy, throaty drone, but all he was capable of offering. He wondered if it would be enough for his captor. 

The thrusts resuming were almost a relief. They were faster now, something Nicholai could just barely register through the numbness that was quickly overtaking his hips.

"Say it again."

"You..." Nicholai's tongue ran across his dry lips, his voice was hitching, words clinging to the inside of his cheeks. "Be-etter."

" _ **Again**_."

"You're b...better."

Jack's nails penetrated through the flesh of Nicholai's thighs as he climaxed, slamming his hips against him tightly and fully sheathing himself inside the man's body to empty his seed. Ragged breaths wracked his chest, grunting profanity as he submitted to the high of orgasmic release, head lulling down to watch pink-tinged cum bubble down the delicate contours of Nicholai's rear. 

The silver-haired Russian was silent, an acrid taste in his mouth biting at his sinuses as he felt the orgasm pump through him -- a heavy hotness boiling in his gurgling belly. He wanted to vomit, but his weakened body wouldn't permit any movement at all as though even his survival mechanisms were exhausted.

Jack slowly slid out, lifting Nicholai's thigh gently with a prodding thumb to watch more blood and cum slip out of the well-fucked hole. He chuckled in satisfied delight, tucking himself away gently. 

"That was fun, Nicky." He mewed mockingly, "Might want to have a go again later, _if you're up for it_."

The monsoon winds had calmed, and nothing but the drench of steady, beating rain on trees was audible from outside. 

Jack unclipped and discarded his utility vest before attending to his captive, tugging his pants up loosely and flipping him from his side onto his back. It made enough room for them to both lay on the mattress, Jack slipping his arm around Nicholai's chest in a grotesque simulation of intimacy. 

"Time to get some rest, Nicky!" He grinned, smirking through another devilish jeer, "Don't go anywhere."

~

Jack's eyes fluttered open slowly.

It was light out. The monsoon had passed and there was nothing but the clear, crisp sounds of birdsongs erupting through the chipper greenery outside.

He'd slept the night. But something had triggered him from his sleep -- he knew the feeling of instinctual wakefulness well from his years of being jolted up in combat zones. 

Beside him, Nicholai was still there. Awake. Eyes open. Jaw clenched in derisive, silent antagonism. He doubted the man had fallen under for even a minute.

Jack sat up on the mattress, cracking his neck with a yawn. 

"Morning, Nic--"

" _Krauser_!"

An echo reverberated through the forest, dipping into the small, concrete hut through the windowless window panes. It was so faint that Jack didn't know whether or not it was real, silencing every thought in his mind as he waited for confirmation.

" _Krauser_!"

Jack practically jumped from the mattress, darting quickly to the doorless front entryway of the hut and calling through cupped hands. "Leon! I'm here!"

The two exchanged calls for direction, Leon's voice gaining clarity and closeness with every attempt. Soon, he emerged from the far distant treeline, prompting Jack to wave his arms and signal his location. 

"Krauser!" Leon darted towards the hut, stopping with an exasperated huff of relief, "Fuck -- we were looking everywhere for you! I thought you might have gotten targeted by the _federales_."

Jack shrugged, "I found my way through. Got caught in the monsoon."

Leon nodded, "Well, I'm glad you're o--" A weak whimper of pain interrupted the young man's thought, hands immediately, instinctively bolting to his handgun and unholstering it in one, swift movement. His eyes darted over Jack's shoulder into the _casa,_ "Is there someone... in there?"

The soldier nodded, stepping to the side and ushering Leon inside nonchalantly, "Oh yeah. I made a friend."

Leon side-stepped into the tiny room carefully, eyes darting along the mess on the floor. 

Cigarettes. A wallet. What appeared to be a piece of paper torn cleanly in two. A metal chair, toppled onto its side.

At the halfway point, Leon noticed the corner of a bed in the single adjacent room -- a pair of scuffed boots just barely visible. A cautious peer around the corner elicited a gasp from the young soldier.

"Jesus, Krauser..." Leon murmured, holstering his sidearm quickly and striding around the corner towards the mattress, "W-who is he...?"

"Some mouthy terrorist." Jack spat smugly, crossing his arms, "Found him in the forest when I was trying to get to rendezvous."

The blonde crept closer, kneeling beside the mattress slowly. Nicholai could see his eyes -- a soft, baby blue that radiated concern, even kindness. 

"Are you okay..?" He murmured quietly, lip cocked in disgust as his eyes rapidly traced the contours of dried blood and swollen flesh on Nicholai's face. 

"What... the fuck... do you think?" He breathily dribbled hazily, wanting desperately to roll his eyes but lacking the energy, "...Idiot."

Leon's eyebrows cocked up in confusion, the young man turning to cast a glance of confusion over his shoulder as Jack simply smirked.

"Told you he was mouthy."

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Yesh' der'mo! Amerikanskaya svin'ya!/Ешь дерьмо! Американская свинья! = Eat shit, American pig.
> 
> ~
> 
> I challenged myself to do a half-decent Nicholai/Krauser... a Nikrauser, if you will. I actually ended up enjoying the outcome more than I thought I would. Tell me what you thought! Should I continue this at all (if so, please leave a suggestion as to where you'd like it to go)? No? Yes? 
> 
> No? Ok.
> 
> ALSO: Shoutout to ShipVigilante, as the photo part was totally inspired by their amazing Sergolai ‘Show Me Love.’ Go read it.


End file.
